


Waves Carved on Sand

by masked



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blind Castiel (Supernatural), Day At The Beach, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Professor Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 02:30:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16845394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masked/pseuds/masked
Summary: based on the prompt: destiel + blind character first time visiting seaside please? <3It’s a Sunday night when Dean suggests, “Let’s hit up a beach this weekend.”Castiel pauses his fork, and swallows the rest of his food before he echoes, “A beach?”“Yeah.”“You want to go swimming in the middle of September?”





	Waves Carved on Sand

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on March 4, 2018 [here](http://hamburgergod.tumblr.com/post/171515470023/pursuitoffaith-prompted-destiel-blind). 
> 
> I learned a lot from [The Tommy Edison Experience](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCld5SlwHrXgAYRE83WJOPCw) while writing this fic so special shoutout to the channel!

It’s a Sunday night when Dean suggests, “Let’s hit up a beach this weekend.”

Castiel pauses his fork, and swallows the rest of his food before he echoes, “A beach?”

“Yeah.”

“You want to go swimming in the middle of September?”

“What? No,” Dean laughs, and Castiel smiles. “We haven’t been on a roadtrip in forever. Why not?”

“Why the beach?”

“Hey, I’ve never been. Not the actual ocean, anyway,” Dean replies. Castiel hears the sound of the knife being worked against the steak. “You?”

“No, never.” Castiel slowly chews on a piece of potato. “All I know is that it’s salty, and there’s a lot of sand and water.”

“Yeah, same. Can’t be  _that_ different from a lake, right?”

“I guess we’ll just have to see,” Castiel replies. He laughs while Dean lets out a loud groan in mock-contempt, and it’s one of Castiel’s favourite sounds. Dean’s hand is a warm weight on his shoulder as he drops a small kiss against his hair, and clears up their dishes. It’s on Castiel’s mind while he dries the dishes that are handed to him, and on his mind still when they’re getting ready for bed.

Dean said this weekend, which means he’ll have to finish preparing for next week’s lectures by Thursday. It’s hardly a time constraint, and one he’ll gladly work for if it means a whole free weekend spent with Dean, who’s been so busy lately at work that he’s been coming home late almost every other day.

Dean slips into bed after he clicks off the light on his side. The memory foam hardly shifts, but Dean’s always been a shuffler before he settles down. Castiel would recognize him in any bed after two years of sharing one with him. They snuggle into the warm comforters, and Dean fits in between Castiel’s outstretched arm so nicely that Castiel can stroke his short hair at the back of his neck while being lulled into sleep, relishing in the familiar slight prickles against his fingers.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Castiel hushes.

“Hm?”

“The trip to the beach.”

Dean’s breaths are soft and even, and his body rises in tune, expanding a little more before he lets out a puff of air. There’s the nice weight of Dean’s arm on Castiel’s chest, and Dean curls his hand on Castiel’s side.

“Yeah,” Dean says, his voice low and steady. “Me, too.”

* * *

“What’s gotten you all dopey-looking this time?”

“Hm?”

“Your face,” Balthazar says, “you’ve got a  _look_.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“What did Dean do this time?” Balthazar asks coyly, nudging him on the side all the while.

“Stop that,” Castiel bats away, though he doesn’t try to reel in the smile which overtake his face. “We’re going on a trip this weekend.”

“Ooh, a romantic getaway. That’s exciting.”

It is. They used to go on roadtrips quite often, every summer full of opportunities for each other’s company to be seized. Dean had always nudged Castiel and Sam along, with his restlessness and his desire for the road and the whole world to share among themselves.

“The world’s our oyster and we’re going to eat it, et cetera,” Dean would say.

“I don’t like oysters,” Castiel would reply, to which Sam would laugh in the happiest way Castiel’s ever heard another human do.

It’s the rumble of Dean’s car, and the fresh morning air with the soft chirping birds that he misses the most. The wind in his face as they drive down the road, Dean’s music that drum with his heart, and the cool, quiet nights with cans of beer along the way.

It’ll be a nice change from the routine they’ve settled into. Not that Castiel isn’t thankful for it; it keeps them stabilized, and rooted to each other. Still, the prospect of a trip is exciting.

His students notice, as do his TAs, and he must be radiating happiness as loudly as Dean radiates his presence wherever he goes. It’s only Tuesday, but he already feels a little swoop in his stomach from the anticipation.

It really has been far too long.

* * *

Friday finally comes around, and by the time Balthazar drops Castiel off at home, Dean is already packing the trunk of the Impala.

“Did you pack sunscreen?” Castiel asks from their room.

Footsteps emerge from the garage accompanied by heavy breathing. “What’d you say?” Dean asks.

“Sunscreen,” he repeats. “Did you pack it?”

“It’s the middle of September,” Dean replies with an amused note. “We’re not gonna be suntanning, I hope.”

“I heard it’s easy to get burned by the beach.”

“Eh,” is Dean’s flippant reply, and he goes right back to preparing for the rest of the trip. Castiel makes sure to pack the soft t-shirts he likes to wear, along with a few jackets in case it gets cold.

The car rumbles to life under them, and off they go. The sun is warm against his skin even though it’s almost October. Castiel relaxes in the familiar smell of leather, and lets Dean fumble around with the radio before he settles onto a station. Dean hums along to the music, sometimes mumbling the lyrics under his breath. Castiel lets the exhaustion of the week catch up to him, and lulls in and out of sleep, the cool windowpane against his forehead.

“Cas?” Dean calls softly after a few hours of comfortable pauses and easy conversations.

Castiel yawns. He stretches, and rises up. “What?”

“I was just thinking.”

“That’s good.”

“Dick,” Dean laughs, and he quietens again. Castiel vaguely wonders what time it is now. “I was just thinking about… us.”

“Us?”

“Us,” Dean confirms, and Castiel is more awake now. He’s just now noticing how tight Dean’s voice sounds. “It’s… you know.” Castiel doesn’t know, but he lets Dean work through it. “I think I’m the luckiest son of a bitch to have what I have with you.”

Castiel is shocked into silence. The wind breezes through his hair, and the Impala’s engine is a steady sound in the background. It isn’t often that Dean is open like this, but being on the road tends to do strange things to them. The car knows more secrets about them than any other place on Earth, Castiel thinks.

Castiel reaches out and touches what he assumes is Dean’s thigh. There’s a hand that convers his hand on top, and Castiel turns it over so Dean’s fingers can intertwine with his own. “I feel the same way,” he says. “What brought this up all of a sudden?”

Dean’s hand squeezes him, and Dean lets out a little chuckle. “I don’t know,” Dean replies mysteriously, even though Castiel has suspicions that he knows exactly what it is.

“Hmm,” Castiel says tentatively.

Dean brings up Castiel’s hand to his lips and kisses the top. “It’s September,” Dean offers as an explanation. “It’s around when we first met. I always think about this crap when it’s September.”

“You always think about how you ran into me and spilled coffee all over us?” Castiel asks dryly.

Dean laughs, and drops their hands back onto his thigh. “Yup,” Dean says, his voice full of mirth now. “And how I’m the luckiest son of a bitch for it.”

Castiel huffs, and they fall back into their easy conversations, about their next dnd sessions, about their mutual friends, about everything and anything.

Castiel thinks too, on how he’s the luckiest son of a bitch for Dean to have run into, out of all the people in the world.  

* * *

After their breakfast at the nice B&B Dean’s booked for them, they head down to the beach.

The first thing that Castiel notices is the tang in the air as soon as he’s out of the car. The next thing that hits him is just how salty it smells, clinging to every part of his body. He breathes it in deeply, the wind stronger by the waterfront than it was in the city. He has his cane just in case, but he mostly holds onto Dean’s arm while they navigate towards the beach.

The sideboard makes interesting hollow sounds under their feet, then all of a sudden, Castiel is sinking into the sand. It takes him a little bit to get used to how the ground sinks under him a little bit before there’s some semblance of solidness, but it’s quite nice.

Then, the sound of the crashing waves hit him.

“Oh,” Castiel says quietly.

“Yeah,” Dean replies. “That’s definitely not a lake.”

Castiel laughs, and they walk along the water. Dean  _makes_ him take his shoes off, and Castiel is forced to feel the wet sand between his toes. It’s nice, but he’s not wearing flip-flops like Dean is, so he complains about having to put socks back on later.

“It’s fine,” Dean reassures, but it’s  _not_ fine since he’s not the one who has to put on socks over wet feet. Still, the way the water rises up to tickle him between his toes before sucking out the sand under his soles is a new experience. He hears seagulls in the distance, which seems appropriate.

And suddenly, Castiel can imagine this in their future, in the far far future, where Dean wants to go on spontaneous trips to the edges and crooks of the country, and they travel all over it to share experiences together, and spend the rest of their lives together like that. The thought has him squeeze Dean’s arm a little tighter, hold him a little closer. He thinks he can understand what Dean meant in the car yesterday, what he was trying to say when he was thinking about them.

Dean finds them a picnic table, and they eat their lunch by the seaside. They share sandwiches and a comfortable silence between them, and Castiel feels the breeze on his face. “Dean.”

“Hmm?”

“Come here.”

Dean’s clothes shuffle, and he puts his palm against Castiel’s face. “Yeah?”

Castiel leans, and Dean meets him halfway. The kiss is gentle and sweet and salty, and Castiel relishes in the slow movement. He can feel Dean’s smile against his own.

“Thank you,” Castiel says.

“For the kiss?” Dean asks with amusement.

“For the trip,” Castiel confirms with another kiss, and Dean sighs happily.

They find a shell as a souvenir, and Dean stores it safely in the Impala’s glove department. Dean’s hair smells like the sea as does his skin when they make love that night, and Castiel makes sure to carve every single breath they take together into his memories.

Before they know it, it’s already time to head back home, and back into their busy lives. Dean is noticeably disappointed by the aspect, but he still complains about the bed anyway, so they might as well go back home to their mattress.

“Well.” Castiel settles his hand on Dean’s arm, and Dean quietens. “Next time, we can find a place with a better bed to your liking.”

Dean pauses, the radio station stagnant for the brief moment.

“Yeah,” Dean says, and Castiel can tell he’s smiling. “Next time.”


End file.
